


The Kindest Use A Knife

by highfantastical



Category: Cambridge Spies
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cambridge, Espionage, Grief, M/M, Moscow, Parental Death, Shakespeare, Unrequited Love, Washington D.C., five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highfantastical/pseuds/highfantastical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five gentlemen once loved by Guy Burgess, Esq.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kindest Use A Knife

_Commander Malcolm Kingsford de Moncy Burgess._

It was not the worst night of his life, but it was among many promising candidates for the second-worst -- although arriving at a summary judgment was difficult when so many of the other possibilities were but imperfectly recalled. He remembers the shoes that lay outside the door, waiting to be cleaned -- the streaks of mud on them, and how they had moulded to his father's long feet.

*

 _Julian Heward Bell._

It was the worst night of his life, but there is really nothing of Julian in the memory. Just his tears soaking through all five of the handkerchiefs Anthony had thoughtfully brought with him -- and Guy threw the last one sodden on the floor, and shouted, 'I don't see why you think it matters whether or not I wipe my fucking nose.' His chest hurt so; if only he had inherited his father's heart, with its propensity for stopping.

*

 _Jack ('Jacky') Hewit_

Jacky's hair was flecked with paint, and Guy said, 'You are much too patriotic, but never fear. I'll fuck it out of you. The red -- and white -- and blue, all hazed and flushed. Come on; I don't like waiting. Union, Jack.'

*

 _Harold Adrian Russell ('Kim') Philby._

When Kim crouched down by the bed and took his hand, it was as though that vast, shining, and dreadful land was no longer rocking around him and trying to throw him off into the Atlantic wastes. He was not exactly frightened; all that seemed to have stopped a long time before. But he had a sort of sickly vertigo, as if all his ropes were cut, or perhaps they had only painted the front of him. Kim's hand felt very warm, clutching his own. An undeniably real person, Kim was. He could scarcely believe that of most of the people they were meeting.

Guy said -- 'What are thy rents? What are thy comings-in?' -- Kim held him a bit tighter, that was all.

*

 _Anthony Frederick Blunt._

They had once reclined on a rug, and looked with idle eyes across Trinity's lawns. Guy had forgiven him -- as much as anyone could -- for fucking Julian; probably he would one day forgive him for his steadiness, for restraining the worst or best of all Guy's indiscretions. (To be indiscreet with Julian -- would he have been even one hundredth part as sad, if he'd forfeited Moscow's esteem in lieu?)

Anthony never took away the bottle, not once. He wasn't usually _kind._

Guy knew that there would be no reply, not even if he had been stupid enough to post them, but there were still things he needed to say to Anthony, quite often.

~


End file.
